


shokushu, OR how gene learned to ignore the falsetto sex noises

by kidcomrade



Category: God Hand, No More Heroes
Genre: Gen, crossover AU, roommate au, why is gene here? we just dont know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidcomrade/pseuds/kidcomrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travis Touchdown is the world's worst goddamn roommate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shokushu, OR how gene learned to ignore the falsetto sex noises

**Author's Note:**

> This is a year-old tumblr request fic, spruced up a bit for ao3. Not a smut fic, but minorly explicit tentacle porn gets described, so don't read at work, folks.

He's got a seeping styrofoam cup of instant ramen noodles clutched securely in his left fist, but when he walks in the room to shrill Japanese moans, he nearly drops his fork full of noodles straight down onto the carpet. And Gene should be able to understand this shit by now, really: it came the territory of last-minute-roommate-dom. Mess and underwear on the floor. Shitty microwave and dehydrated food 'cause they're both broke as shit. Hell, even walking in on _porn_ isn't new here-- he's caught his roommate enough times that it's gone from an embarrassment to a mild inconvenience. 

But today the anime girl's not even having sex with anything even _vaguely_ humanoid, and he hates himself for it but _God_ he really just needs to ask.

Gene turns to face the TV screen and the disheveled back of Travis Touchdown's head. Travis has already realized his presence, he's sure: apparently, he's less exciting than the cartoon currently getting reamed. ( _Is_ she getting reamed? Is that a penis? What the hell is this mess?) "Are you watching that weird anime shit again?"

Travis grunts in a passive sort of recognition. Definitely less interesting than the anime girl. "Yeah, and?"

"The door’s open!"

"And?"

"THEY’RE FUCKING!"

Sure enough, in less than a second, Purple Haired Generic Anime Girl is overtaken by… something. It looks gooey, at least-- sounds like it too. Gene stares, horrified. Travis doesn't even budge from his seat on the worn armchair, appraising the whole scene with an expression of only the vaguest attention.

"Technically, they aren’t," he answers matter-of-factly. His eyes never leave the screen. "The alien’s probing her or whatever the fuck, and it happened to pick THAT orifice."

“It what?”

A pained (?) shriek rings out from the television.

"…Annnnd that one too." Travis turns a palm up to the ceiling and shrugs nonchalantly. 

Gene’s incredulous, turning away from the bizarre scene to dump the ramen's soggy rehydrated peas down the sink. “You’re so fucking weird,” he grumbles.

"Says the guy who got magic appendages," Travis retorts. "And seriously, judging a guy’s porn? Lowest of the low. Have some fuckin’ manners. I mean, you haven’t even seen it yet, how’re you supposed to know whether it sucks or not?"

"Yeah," he calls from the bathroom, "I’d rather not."

—

Five minutes later, he's leaning forward against the back of the armchair, watching a girl with dinner plate eyes fellate a bunch of glowing green tentacles.

"Seriously, how do they even _think_ of this stuff?"

Travis, meanwhile, only laughs, leaning back against the cushions and casting a fleeting glance at Gene over his shoulder.


End file.
